


Are You Lonesome Tonight?

by jedihbic



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Cunnilingus, Dirty Talk, F/M, Face-Sitting, First Kiss, First Time, Force Bond (Star Wars), Masturbation, Mocking, Mutual Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Smut, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-10
Updated: 2018-06-02
Packaged: 2019-04-21 01:00:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14273517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jedihbic/pseuds/jedihbic
Summary: She will have to wait until he realizes that, however painful, he should accept the past as a part of who he is.Rey’s hand now rests on her trembling thigh, absentmindedly tugging at a loose string. Letting out a shaky breath, she releases the string and holds still for a moment, fingers a millimeter away from brushing against the fabric of her pants. Conflicted, she tries to weigh the pros and cons of what her body wills her to do."I’ll just have to bide my time until he does," Rey thinks to herself, huffing decisively.





	1. Rey

_On Crait, Kylo had settled into a kneeling position, his father’s lucky dice lying in his palm. He felt her before he saw her, goose pimples forming on his arms, the hair on the back of his neck standing on end. Rey was preoccupied at first, loading everyone onto the ship, making sure no one was left behind. He had stared expectantly up at her, waiting for her to make eye contact with him. Touching the shoulder of a passing Rebel, Rey finally felt it. Their environments merged for a_

_moment, the rumbling sounds of the Falcon mixing with the militant noises on Kylo’s end. Then, the amalgam of noise became hushed, and all that could be heard were their unsteady heartbeats._

_Wordlessly, they had a conversation using only their expressions. It went something like this:_

_Kylo’s lips quivered—“Why?”_

_Rey’s brow furrowed—“You know why.”_

_Kylo’s jaw shifted in a way that looked uncomfortable, just as it had when he’d failed to convince her to bring him Luke Skywalker during their first force connection—“I was prepared to give you everything.”_

_A determined look stuck to Rey’s face. It lacked compassion not because she felt nothing for him, but because she needed him to know that her patience had grown thin. She had made up her mind. No more chasing after him, or putting herself in danger just for him to revert to his old ways. She was going to wait until he made the jump himself—“I don’t want anything from you. I want Ben Solo.”_

_The expression that painted his face next might have been readable, had Rey not ended their connection right then, lifting the boarding ramp to successfully seal herself and all other occupants inside the ship._

 

To avoid turning every corner anxiously for the following month, Rey told herself that the force bond had been permanently severed in that moment. Considering the fact that the two have not bonded since that encounter, it’s not a groundless statement. That doesn’t make it true, though, and she knows this.

Kylo is still very much present in her mind, lightyears away from her, pulling and tugging at the impossible chord that is their bond. She can feel it. When he angers, she angers. When he saddens, she saddens. Considering how emotional Ben is, this connection is, to say the least, inconvenient.

Stretched out atop a small, one-person bunk, Rey wonders, for a moment, how strongly _her_ emotions affect the newly-enthroned Supreme Leader. For instance, the other day, Finn had boisterously impersonated Poe Dameron, unaware that Poe had entered the room. She had dissolved into laughter at the unamused expression that Poe wore in that moment.

 _Did Kylo feel my humor? Did he laugh as well?_ Rey muses.

The Jedi smiles to herself at the thought of Kylo Ren, the most feared man in the galaxy, laughing until his stomach aches, just as she had. She can hardly imagine it.

Her grin is butchered in remembrance of the dark-sided man’s proposal; “You and I against the galaxy,” had been his offer, put in simpler terms.

Rey knows that the proposition was made due to her force sensitivity. She is powerful, and Ben wanted to use that power to bend the universe to his will. If she had taken his hand that fateful day, they’d have been unstoppable. A part of her likes to pretend, though, that power was not Kylo’s only motive. She often wishes he’d held out his gloved hand as a plea for something else.

 _Please, Rey_ , she imagines him saying. _I don’t know where to go from here. I need you by my side. You’re the only one who can help me._

Rey feels her face heating up like it had the night that they touched fingertips. She’d never been so close to someone before that moment. At least, not in such an intimate way. If she closes her eyes, she can picture the scene perfectly.

 

_Both of them were sitting, she remembers. Rey was soaked due to the unsettling events that had preceded their clandestine meeting in the hut. She remembers shaking like a wet dog, a blanket wrapped tightly around her in an attempt to keep her warm. Meanwhile, Kylo was sitting across from her, perfectly still, watching her with surprisingly kind eyes. What a sight it would have been to anyone who knew them; two enemies, warming themselves by a fire with no sign of discontent. One might think the two actually enjoyed each other’s company in that moment._

_“_ _I thought I'd find answers here,” Rey admitted. “I was wrong. I've never felt so alone.”_

_“You’re not alone,” was Ben’s staggeringly immediate response._

_The soft tone of voice with which he said this made Rey’s head raise. She met his gaze and all but stopped breathing._

_Finally, she assured him with, “Neither are you.”_

_At that point, they had gained an understanding of each other. They were two lonely individuals, positioned opposite of each other on the battlefield. They shared the same pleading gaze; one that said, “Please cross the field for me.” But both were too stubborn to do it themselves._

_Slowly, hesitantly, Rey had reached out her hand towards the man. The act was done on a whim, but as her palm raised, she began to regret it. Maybe this is overstepping, Rey remembers thinking, worrying. Once her fingers had fully extended, she looked up at him, hopeful._

_For a minute, it looked as if he wasn’t going to do it. But just as Rey had made this observation, Kylo began stripping his hand of his glove. Rey’s fingers flexed unwittingly with anticipation. She remembers the pace with with his hand rose to meet hers was agonizingly slow. They seemed to near an inch every minute. When their fingertips were only a minute’s distance apart, Rey began to hold her breath._

_For several moments, all was still. She still can’t remember who made the final motion to close the gap, but that mattered not at the time. When their skin finally made contact, the world slipped away. Ach-To and its many naturous noises vanished, leaving her with a calming sense of simplicity. In that moment, it was just the two of them and the lively fire between them._

_She looked at him, he looked at her; it lasted forever. The intimacy of the situation brought tears to Rey’s eyes. The warmth of his hand, the expression on his face… she could have sworn that their tryst lasted days, weeks even._

 

Rey opens her eyes, overwhelmed by the accurate, vivid memory. Her face is hot, unnaturally so. She presses the back of her hand to her perspiring forehead, hoping to cool the feverish skin.

She’s annoyed that the memory still holds so much power over her, reducing her to a mess each and every time she reflects on it. She made an oath the day she left Kylo unconscious in the throne room, those many months ago. She had promised to wait for him, for his return to the light side. Never did she think it would be so difficult to hold out for him.

Rey imagines what could’ve been if he did turn that day. He’d have listened to her and ordered them to stop firing. The two of them would have worked to move the Resistance to a safe location, one where they could no longer be tracked by the First Order. The Millenium Falcon would be filled to the brim with Rebels, the small amount that were left. General Organa would be reunited with her son, and then…

 _And then, what?_ Rey asks herself, frustrated.

She scolds herself for being so unrealistic. What did she truly expect? That Ben would up and leave the First Order… for her? The make-believe outcome she pines over is nothing more than a starry-eyed dream. Ben—no, Kylo— would never have gone with her that day. It wouldn’t have made sense; he was still split. He had made up his mind about her, but he was still set on forgetting the past. She will have to wait until he realizes that, however painful, he should accept the past as a part of who he is.

Rey’s hand now rests on her trembling thigh, absentmindedly tugging at a loose string. Letting out a shaky breath, she releases the string and holds still for a moment, fingers a millimeter away from brushing against the fabric of her pants. Conflicted, she tries to weigh the pros and cons of what her body wills her to do.

 _I’ll just have to bide my time until he does,_ Rey thinks to herself, huffing decisively.

With her mind made up, her fingers intentionally brush against the cloth as she runs her hand up her thigh. Reaching the waistband, she hesitantly slips her hand under, eager as ever to feel something.

She wishes it were his hand instead, however lewd that thought may be.

Her fingers brush against the part of her that longs to be touched by him. This is the “and then…” she wants. And _then,_ the two of them disregard the Jedi Code, disregard propriety as a whole, and they touch each other the way she knows they both want to be touched.

 _If only he weren’t so bloodyminded_ , she thinks, _t_ _hese sensations could be his doing._

She continues her ministrations, eventually bringing herself to pant and groan aloud. She grinds her teeth together, repressing the pitiful, almost overwhelming urge to whisper his name.

The memory of Kylo Ren turning to face her, cowl-less and stoic as ever, invades her mind. He’d given her some useless advice that night, but one thing she could thank him for was the unforgettable image of his exposed torso. The memory, engraved on her mind, has proven to be… extremely valuable to her.

No longer hesitant about or embarrassed by her actions, Rey begins grasping at straws for any other memory of him that might further her cause.

 

_“You do?” Kylo questioned, pronouncing the words alluringly. He had been overlooking the hangar before she arrived to bother him, calling him a monster. He’d almost thrown her completely off balance with the slight, downward tilt of his head as he finalized his statement. “Ah… you do.”_

 

Upon noticing that her cot has begun to squeak from her vigorous activities, she slows her movements. Again, she closes her eyes, fingers moving slower this time. She reaches for another memory.

 

 _“I saw something too,” Kylo had whispered in the elevator, his body so close to hers that their chests were nearly pressed together. Eyes full of pure adoration, he had closed with, “_ _And because of what I saw, I know that, when the time comes, you’ll be the one to turn.”_

 

She hadn’t. He had been wrong, but that bit of information is disadvantageous in this instance, so Rey chooses to ignore it.

The reverberations of Kylo’s words help her along considerably, bringing Rey to the point of desperation. She grinds against her hand, putting no effort towards suppressing the aggressive, four-letter-words that push their way out of her mouth. Breathless and quite out of memories to ache over, she tries to picture his face, imagining what he’d look like if he were here right now, watching her.

It was a mistake to do that, though, she realizes. The second she pictures his visage, features clear and eyes stern, she nearly finishes herself. Wanting to prolong this pleasure, she becomes still, her fingers hovering over her skin, itching to continue.

When she finally regains control of herself, she resumes. This time, she decides to ease into the fantasy, one feature at a time.

Eyes screwed shut, she envisions his lips: plump and soft—though, when she’d last seen him, he’d been a mess, lips chapped and quivering. She wonders what it’d be like to feel them on her own. He’d lean down to meet her height, hands settling on her hips, and then he’d-

“Fuck,” she hisses, halting her movements once again.

She could run miles in balmy, Jakku weather, and she still wouldn’t be breathing as heavily as she is now.

Proceeding, she thinks about his eyes next. They’re indecisive; one moment, puppy-like, and the next, alit with fire and intensity. She favors the moments when they’re wide with wonder and disbelief, like they were in the forest on Starkiller Base. The way he looked at her when the saber—his birthright, once belonging to Darth Vader himself—inexplicably flew past his figure, right into some stranger’s dirty, calloused hands… it was like he’d never seen anything like her. One would’ve expect him to be outright enraged that the saber had chosen her over him, and yet all he could do was stare at her with a worshipping gaze.

“Fuck,” Rey groans again, this time more pronounced than the last.

She’s only saying _that_ word so she can avoid saying the word she actually wants to say, the word that’s clawing its way up her throat, fighting to escape; truthfully, it’s not just a word, but a name as well.

_Ben._

She shutters at the sound of his name echoing in her mind, so close to release that an unspoken moniker has the power to almost push her over the edge. Building courage, she resolves to say his name aloud.

When she opens her mouth to speak it, however, she finds it almost impossible. Rey knows that she is alone in this room, and that the walls are thick, preventing anyone from hearing her soft whines or the repressed-but-subsisting squeak of her berth, but something stops her from fulfilling this one desire.

Lying on the cot, mouth wide open, Rey shakes, satisfied beyond belief. She’s desperate to finish herself, but she can’t. Not until she says his name. As her fingers work faster and more aggressively against her, she arches her back and lets out a succession of profane moans. Sweating now, she cries out as she completes her mental list of his features: soft lips, pleading eyes, a prominent nose, divine-swept hair, a muscular torso… and that scar.

That scar, long and curved, which runs from his brow all the way down to the area below his collarbone, displayed on the right side of his face and neck only… she put that there. Brushing off all unhelpful emotions regarding that one, unique feature—namely, guilt—she is left with pure, libidinous pride, which only fuels her hunger. _She_ put that there. It was all her doing. And no matter how he feels about the wound now, he cannot deny who gave it to him. Every time he sees his reflection from here on out, it’ll be impossible not to think of the girl who’d bested him in the forest those many months ago.

 _I’ll always be with him_ , Rey thinks to herself. _And he knows it, too._

That thought, of all the ones that have passed through her mind in the past couple minutes, is the most powerful.

Finally, with a strained, quavering voice, she cries out. She comes undone at her own touch, but not before uttering the single syllable that she’s been longing to say out loud since she began.

“Ben!”

Feeling as if she’s dissolving in pleasure, Rey grips her sheets with her unoccupied hand, trembling with release, eyes rolling to the back of her head. She’s unsure of how loud her exclamation had been, and, in this moment, she couldn’t care less. She continues to touch herself even after she’s finished, determined to savor every sensation her release has to offer.

The girl lies on her bunk, satisfied, her ministrations having come to an end. Still breathing heavily, she decides to catch her breath as she reclines on the cot. Pressing the back of her hand to her cheek, she feels a summery heat radiating from her face, and she smiles to herself.

However lonely she may be at this point in time, she knows what the force wants of her, and of Ben. It—this energy—wants the two of them at peace. Not just that, it wants them _close_ , physically and emotionally. And who is she to deny it of that outcome? She’ll just have to let the force take matters into its own hands.

 _He’ll come around eventually,_ she thinks to herself. And until he does, she has her hands to keep her satisfied.


	2. Ben

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kylo wakes up unexplainably aroused, and begins to fantasize about Rey.

In a cold sweat, Kylo awakens. He throws the comforter off his body and tries to steady his erratic breathing. He had a dreamless sleep, which is odd considering the fact that he feels as if he’s about to come out of his own skin. Sitting atop the grand bed—designed to meet each and every one of the new Supreme Leader’s specifications—he looks around his chambers, hoping no one, not even a droid, heard the pathetic whimper he let out upon awakening.

Upon realizing that no one is there, he exhales slowly. Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, Kylo wonders what got him so riled up in the first place. If it wasn’t a dream, and his body wasn’t trying to warn him of any outward danger, then… 

He lowers his face, looking down at his sleeping pants. A tent has formed, his bulge pushing against the fabric, begging to be released from its confines. Irritated, Kylo gives the disruption a black look, deciding that he hasn’t the time to relieve himself.

_ Then again _ , thinks Kylo, looking towards the clock that rests on his bedside table,  _ I’m not due to be woken up for another hour or so. Maybe… _

It’s true; the time on the clock reads 4:02 am. The droid that wakes him in the morning comes at around 5:00 am, give or take a few minutes. Surely it wouldn’t take him that long, what with how hard he is already.

Decisively, Kylo brings his legs back up to rest on the bed. He moves to the side of the bed whose sheets have not been sweated through, and relaxes. Leaning back against the downy pillow, cold in contrast to his heated skin, he closes his eyes. With fumbling fingers, he digs his thumbs under the waistband of his wool trousers and tugs them down. His cock springs free, no longer restricted by the tight-fitted cloth, and he immediately takes hold of it. 

He hesitates, and then removes his hand, changing his mind entirely. 

His hesitation is not due to the fact that he fears being interrupted, an official busting down his door to pass off an urgent message; no, that thought only excites him. He hesitates because he knows where his mind will wander. He knows who he’ll think of as he strokes himself, and he doesn’t want to feel the shame wash over him after he’s finished.

_ Damn that filthy scavenger _ , he thinks, frustrated. 

The girl has all but murdered him, as if strategically ruining his life: she’s carved a scar in his visage, broken his trust, and now pollutes his mind at the most unfortunate times. There’s nothing left for her to take from him.  

He’s resolved not to say her name from here on out. In the elevator that day, she was Rey, but that was nearly a month ago; circumstances have changed. Now she is nothing to him besides a nuisance, an intrusive thought. 

He’d be lying, though, if he said he hadn’t thought about what would have happened if the girl had taken his offer. 

 

_ She’d been standing near the viewing screen, which displayed a clear image of the Resistance’s struggle. Their transports being picked off one by one. However, Kylo wasn’t focused on the fleet at that moment; he was focused on her. He knew what she was going to ask, and he also knew how disappointing his answer would be. All he could do was hope that she’d see things from his point of view. _

_ “Order them to stop firing,” Rey commanded hurriedly. “There’s still time to save the fleet!”  _

_ The next second was painful, Kylo remembers. Rey looked to him optimistically, as if he were certainly going to abandon the Order for her. Of course, he’d thought about escaping the Supremacy, but that was unrealistic. The Order would, without a doubt, hunt him down… They’d hunt Rey down, too. He couldn’t have that.  _

_ An alternative option existed—one that didn’t end in a gruesome, merciless death for the both of them—and it took everything inside of him to present it to her.  _

_ Her expression fell upon noticing his change in mood, the optimism that shone so bright just a few moments ago diminishing by the second. He didn’t want this, but it was necessary.  _

_ “Ben?” she called, breaking his heart with that single, confused syllable.  _

_ A part of him wondered, at that moment, if she truly figured she had saved him. There must have been some doubt scratching at her mind. How could she have been so sure that a monster would follow her to the light side with so little resistance?  _

_ Kylo heaved a breath, his entire body shaking, anxious. He forced the words from his mouth.  _

_ “It’s time to let old things die,” he stated, lacking the confidence needed to convince his principled auditor. “Snoke, Skywalker, the Sith, the Jedi, the Rebels… let it all die. _

_ “Rey,” he continued, holding out his shaking palm, “I want you to join me. We can rule together, and bring a new order to the galaxy.”  _

_ He watched all signs of content drain from her eyes as he finished his proposal; he’d broken her heart, too, apparently. Through the bond, he could feel her desperation grow. They had both witnessed a glimpse of each other’s future. What Rey saw, Kylo couldn’t say, but he knew that it involved the two of them together, and he knew that Rey was passionate about making it a reality. This proposal, he concluded, was not part of the future she envisioned.  _

_ “Don’t do this, Ben,” she choked out, pleading with him. “Please don’t go this way.” _

 

From there, whatever future the force attempted to push onto them fell to ruin. He should’ve known that Rey—righteous and bullheaded as ever—would never compromise. He was willing to meet her halfway, but she wanted him to travel the full distance. 

The events that followed her plea are too painful for Kylo to call to mind. So, instead, he does what he’s done nearly every night for the past month or so; he imagines her by his side… as his Empress. 

 

_ With trembling fingers, she’d have slipped her considerably diminutive hand into his own, which is much larger by comparison. And then, in a moment of pure instinct, he’d direct it upwards, bringing it to his lips; he’d place a light kiss on the knuckle of her pointer finger, gauging her reaction. Her breath would hitch, he imagines, and she’d watch his lips intently, so he’d keep going. Peppering kisses on each knuckle, he’d slowly but surely move up the length of her arm, reducing her to a shaky mess, as he’s dreamed of doing for so long. Once he brushed against the entirety of her neck—hopefully, by that point, earning a whimper or two from the girl before him—he’d draw back to look at her. He’d want her quivering, pleading with him to continue. _

_ That wouldn’t be the extent of their relationship, though: physical love only. No. He’d have enjoyed truly learning about the scavenger; he would lie awake at night—resigned to his designated side of the bed, knowing that he’d wake up the next morning with her in his arms, every boundary being broken—and he’d listen to her speak about Jakku, about how alone she had once felt… about her parents. And if she asked him to, he’d surely reveal information about his past as well; his childhood, the Jedi training camp… Snoke. They’d delve into each other’s minds; only this time, they wouldn’t have to force their way in. _

_ And…  _

 

Kylo struggles to think about the next part. Again, he hesitates because he’s no stranger to the shame that accompanies the thought. 

 

_ And… he’d want her in other ways; in every way. He’d take her everywhere, even if his subordinates were watching. What could they do to stop it?  _

_ He’d take her in the hangar, his arms snaking around her body, pulling her close to his standing figure as he fucks her from behind, reveling in the way she’d struggle to stand on her own. He’d take her on his throne, watching her ride him with pure adoration in his eyes, caressing her face and urging her to continue until she’s collapsed on top of him, exhausted. More often, though, he would take Rey privately on his bed, peering down at her as she writhes beneath him, savoring every noise of pleasure that would slip through her lips.  _

 

_ This bed,  _ Kylo thinks to himself, shuddering. _ The one I lie on at this very second.  _

Gripping his cock once again, he begins to stroke himself as he files through his other fantasies, all of them ranging from extremely gentle to violently rough. He picks through his desires, each scene materializing near him on the empty side of the bed. Kylo’s imagination runs rampant as visions of slow, passionate lovemaking appear directly next to an apparition of Rey kneeling before him, stretching her lips around his shaft as he fucks her throat; the images exist contiguously, but he focuses more attentively on the latter, groaning enviously as he watches a phantom of himself hold the scavenger in place, grinding his pelvis into her open mouth in order to make her gag on his length. 

 

_ If she were here right now, I’d surely fuck her into the mattress,  _ Kylo deliberates decidedly.  _ I’d make her beg. _

And, oh, wouldn’t that be a sight; her doe-like, hazel eyes glancing up at him, desperation unhidden. Kylo would enjoy watching her grow exasperated, grinding against him after he sets an agonizingly slow pace, only thrusting into her once every-

 

Suddenly, and frighteningly, a familiar voice forces its way into his mind. 

 

_ Fuck,  _ the voice exclaims, its owner noticeably breathless. 

He jumps at the intrusion. Ceasing all ministrations at once, he releases his cock and bunches the blanket in his clenched fist, yanking it upwards to cover his exposed body. Letting out a harsh breath, the Jedi Killer looks around wildly, dreading being caught in such an act by his equal. 

A thin layer of goose flesh coats his body, which is a sure sign that the two have bonded. He feels the chord that binds their existence being not only tugged, but yanked, by an untamable energy. And yet, strangely enough, he does not see her. 

Frustration emanates from Rey’s entire being, however, and Kylo shrinks with embarrassment. Could she possibly know what he had done—what he had envisioned doing to her? 

This frustration, Kylo comes to realize, is not that of genuine anger; it is some other sort of frustration. A kind that arises when one is desperate to attain something, he concludes, wondering what could have the scavenger so worked up. 

To his immediate right, a pitched whimper is audible. At breakneck pace, his head swivels in said direction, and the sight that he is met with nearly finishes him.

Only inches away from him, Rey is sprawled atop his four-poster—its grandeur diminished by the sacrosanctity of her presence—with one hand between her thighs, and the other hanging limp off the side of the bed. Her head indents the pillow it rests on, and her mouth is wide open, allowing occasional grunts and moans to escape. The sensations her fingers bring about far surpass that of goose flesh, and she’s too preoccupied to notice that a connection has formed, rendering this pornographic image of her available to her enemy. 

Upon this realization, Kylo feels as if someone has lit a fire beneath him, and he lets out a barely-audible, low grown as the heat burns its way through his body. He clenches his fist and holds it tightly at his side; it takes absolutely everything in him not to extend his fingers and brush the skin of the girl he’s fantasized about for the past month. He resolves to simply observe the scene before him in greater detail. 

His eyes flicker down to her hand, her fingers moving in slow, circular motions against herself. With every movement, her thighs twitch, trembling against his silk, gaudy bedsheets. He’s almost certain that, on her end, she’s carelessly lying atop some underwhelming twin bunk, the unprepossessing, worn blankets bunched up around her feet. But here, surrounded by his personal effects, she appears Godly, the materialistic environment suiting her to no end. 

The bond has become untethered, any and all sensations being shared. With every stroke of her fingers, both Rey and Kylo grow more aroused. He peers down at himself reluctantly, weighing the pros and cons of what his body wills him to do. The stimulation becoming too much, he reaches downwards. Shamelessly, Kylo wraps his fingers around his cock and begins to pump himself once more, savoring the image before him. This time, he elects to pay careful attention to the scavenger’s face.

Mouth agape, the girl breathes in harsh huffs, and Kylo begins to realize just how close she truly is. Blinking rapidly, her eyes eventually settle shut, shaded by loose tendrils of hair that adorn her face. She writhes under her own touch, within reach of release but still denying herself that pleasure. 

Perplexed, Kylo wonders what she’s waiting for.

Rey trembles, and her whimpers become emphatic cries that could be easily misinterpreted as sobs. She grips the sheets, her fingers tightly swathed in his costly bed linen. Kylo pants at the sight of her, so wane and needy, depriving herself of release for whatever reason. He yearns to seize her wrist, pulling her hand away so that he may satisfy her with his tongue instead. 

Unblinking, he watches Rey’s lips stretch, trying to formulate some forbidden word. He mentally bids her to spit it out, wanting to hear her most vulgar desires, or even just a curse—either will further him along markedly. It appears, though, that the word or phrase is too dirty, even for a sand rat like herself. 

It becomes apparent that this word—whatever it may be—is of paramount importance; her pleasure relies on the sole utterance of it. Kylo makes an attempt to pry it from her mind, impatient, wishing to see her crumble under her own ministrations; his attempt is feeble, though, and results in absolutely nothing. She holds tightly to this word, as if it is sacred. Even her own body begins to revolt against this torment, selfishly grasping for release as Rey makes an effort to fend it off. She persists, holding out for this single syllable. One would think humanity, or life itself, was built upon the pronouncement of this word. 

A few more moments—a lifetime to Rey, who lies quivering and whining, more desperate than Ren could have ever imagined her being—is all it takes before she begins to give into the pleasure that her body so demands. But not before a long-anticipated exclamation; Kylo watches, completely captivated and utterly curious, as she arches her back, just seconds away from release, and lets that single word fall from her lips. 

 

“Ben!” she cries.

 

She convulses beautifully, completely spent. The scavenger’s eyes roll to the back of her head, and more hair escapes her loose tri-buns, falling to embellish her face. With her back entirely arched and her mouth agape, she remains in this position for several more moments. Kylo’s eyes glaze over as he watches her come undone, and he begins bucking his hips upward into his own hand. Immense pleasure seeps through the bond as Rey finds release, and if Kylo were only slightly further along, his state would match her own. 

To a man that has been watching the scene unfold with perverted interest for quite some time, Kylo is, at first, unnerved by the utterance of his name. But, only at first. He comes to realize that Rey remains none the wiser to his presence, too caught up in her own affairs to notice him. 

That is, until he unwittingly liberates a suppressed moan.

 

The second it escapes his lips, Rey’s head quickly pivots in his direction, all signs of previous content and fulfillment having swiftly washed away. Her expression changes several times over the next few mortifying seconds: surprise, and then embarrassment, and then anger. 

Just moments away from berating him for participating in this shameful voyeurism, Rey’s expression changes once more—this time, indecipherably. Her line of sight directs downward, and Kylo watches as she slowly examines his body. She pays close attention to his still hand, which grasps his painfully hard cock. 

When the apparent scrutiny of her gaze becomes too much for him to handle, Kylo chokes out, “Rey…” as a pathetic request for forgiveness, or some sort of plea for his voyeuristic measures to be overlooked.

Merciful is not a word that can be used to describe Rey in this moment. Puzzlingly, however, all signs of anger have vanished. She is left with that expression that remains unreadable to Kylo, enigmatically taking in the sight of his body once more before speaking. 

“Ben,” she says simply, purposefully, through heavy, worn breaths. 

He waits for a continuation, and she grants him this.

_ “Keep going.” _


	3. Rey and Ben

On her end, the scene is odd. Kylo, the large, towering creature that he is, seems out of place lying atop her bunk, surrounded by unwashed, worn shrouds of cloth. His body barely fits in the confined space, and the picture is almost humorous.

On his end, however, there is nothing humorous about it. He lolls atop the canopy featherbed, the structure appropriate and appealing for a man of his stature. Next to him, only inches away, lies Rey, perspiration polishing her skin. The vastness of the bed nearly swallows her, the silken duvet pooling around her toned calves.

In this moment, the two are completely exposed to each other, both physically and emotionally. The bond opens wide, and there seems to be an inability to discern where one of them ends and the other begins. It is as if they are the same person.

Kylo’s jaw tightens at the sight of Rey’s hair gradually loosening from the tri-buns that restrain it, falling to rest on her shoulders; in turn, Rey’s jaw tightens as well. She begins breathing heavily, resisting the urge to glance downward and take in her enemy’s full appearance; in turn, Kylo begins panting alongside her. Their every sensation is shared. 

Rey becomes anxious at his lack of response. She wonders, for a second, if she has overstepped, and her lips part, making way for a mortifying apology.

_ What can I even say? _ wonders Rey, red-faced.

She elects to make eye contact with Kylo, as if silently pleading with him not to berate her as a result of her imprudence. Shockingly, there are no signs of anger, or discomfort, or humiliation. She does, however, perceive a filthy, encouraging glint in his eye that is so blatantly lustful it washes away any shred of doubt left in Rey’s mind. This glint emboldens her, and the words that leave her lips are not at all apologetic. 

“Well? What are you waiting for?” she steadies her wavering voice and raises her eyebrows in an attempt to prove that she is both doughty and impatient. “Keep going.”

Kylo’s body reacts before he even has a chance to process her command. He begins pumping himself once again, and he doesn’t dare to blink, irrationally troubled by the thought of not seeing the woman in front of him, even if only for a split second. He fears closing his eyes, for their bond is a fickle thing and it could steal Rey away whenever it deems appropriate. 

“Rey,” Kylo breathes, shuddering. 

His attempt to speak becomes overshadowed by the sight of Rey’s hand leisurely gliding down her stomach, and whatever he had in mind ceases to trouble him any longer. He opens his mouth and releases a needy sort of noise—a sound that one would expect to originate in the throat of a starving man. In a way, he is starving; the sight of the scavenger brings about an insatiable hunger—a greedy, voracious way that cannot be corrected. If only he could manage a taste… 

For the second time in just minutes, Rey allows her hand to eagerly crawl underneath her waistband. Her breath hitches as her fingers begin tracing her slit, and Kylo watches helplessly from beside her, nearly overwhelmed by the urge to seize her wrists and please her himself. He wants to witness this, however—even if only for a few moments more. He wants this image burned into his mind for as long as he lives. 

“Rey,” Kylo begins again, determined to finish this time. “I’ve pictured this—you and I—hundreds of times, in hundreds of different positions and locations. And yet, here you are, fully clothed, not even touching me, and… I’ve never been so hard.” 

Rey closes her eyes for a moment, trying to control her arousal. The thought of Ben getting off to her every night is pleasing, to say the least. 

“I’ve imagined—ah!” moans Rey, her body jerking at the sudden spark of pleasure exuding from Kylo’s end. “I’ve imagined us like this in the captain’s quarters of the Falcon. I must admit, that’s my favorite fantasy.”

As a reaction to her confession, his lip twitches coyly. The captains quarter is an area he’s quite familiar with, due to his time spent on the ship as a child. He can recollect every nook and cranny in the space; it’s a cramped area, and the bedspace is a compact, little cubicle. He can already see it: the two of them, pressed chest-to-chest with nowhere else to go, their faces buried in each other’s necks as they lazily grind against one another, rocking back and forth on the bunk at an undemanding pace. It’d be sloppy, but passionate.

Kylo wonders, momentarily, if Rey likes it like that; would the Jedi prefer it slow and demonstrative, or fast and near-violent? 

_ Perhaps she doesn’t even know the answer herself,  _ he thinks.  _ And I’d be more than happy to help her figure that out.  _

“I can hear you, Ben Solo,” says Rey aloud, permitting Kylo to become flustered, “and I prefer both.” 

Unable to take much more of the sight before him, he takes hold of Rey’s wrist, impeding her pleasure with an unspoken promise of even greater satisfaction. He takes his time in guiding her hand up to his lips, and, without hesitation, he takes her fingers into his mouth, tasting her.

Bereft of speech, Rey watches, completely astonished, as Kylo’s tongue cleans her fingers. He tastes her ardently, as if he’s been waiting to do so for quite some time.

Unbeknownst to Rey, he has. She hasn’t the slightest idea how many nights Kylo’s lain awake, yearning to have the scavenger writhing beneath him as he holds her in place, fucking her with his tongue. That’s his ultimate fantasy. Perhaps, one day, the two’s premier fantasies could clash; Kylo could bury his face in Rey’s cunt in the poor excuse for a bedspace that the Falcon possesses. 

These thoughts are not unheard by Rey, who sucks in a breath before slowly dragging her fingers out of the man’s mouth and across his plump, bottom lip. 

“Who’s keeping you from fulfilling that fantasy right now?” she inquires rhetorically, subconsciously parting her legs.

She’s unsure where this boldness originates from. It’s not unlike her to engage in banter, or to outright mock him—Kylo has been pricked by her sharp wit many a time—but this is something else entirely. She’s not verbally attacking him in any way; she’s tempting him. 

“And tempted I am,” says Kylo longingly, sitting upright and directing his predacious gaze towards the space between Rey’s separated legs. Slowly, he moves to the edge of the bed and then prowls forward, positioning himself twixt her thighs. With a mighty grip, he tugs the fabric down and off, exposing Rey. He gazes down at her with that same look from the forest—he looks upon her with that wide, wonderous mein, as if he’s never seen something quite so fascinating.

The Jedi breathes heavily, spreading her thighs even further as he settles between them. Reaching forward, she procures a handful of his hair, and she tugs on it gently, guiding him forward until his lips tickle the upper inside of her thigh. She shudders. 

Kylo brushes his lips ever so slightly against the skin of Rey’s leg, enjoying the way she squirms as a result. He stipples her thighs with clumsy, little, lingering kisses.

Truthfully, Rey didn’t expect it to be like this; before this moment, she’d expected him to be a brutal lover, and not once did she figure that he’d kiss his way up her leg. The cautious way about him is something that Rey never anticipated. Her body remains stationary as she observes him in a daze.

“I’ve thought… about you… every day… since Crait,” Kylo divulges between kisses.

Rey is pained by the image of Kylo lying awake at night, crucified by their shared loneliness. 

“When I didn’t see you for weeks after,” he reveals, lifting his head to make eye contact, “I wondered if the bond had been severed permanently, but a better part of me knew that it was still in working condition. I could feel you in my mind; it was agony.”

“I could feel you as well,” Rey tells him. “Waiting for you to materialize beside me was something I pretended to dread, but actually…” 

“It was all I had to look forward to, Rey,” he says in a low, serious tone.

Before she can respond to this admission, he dips his head yet again, and Rey lurches at the feeling of his hot, heavy breath on her skin.

“And now I’ve finally got you,” he murmurs more to himself than to the scavenger, gripping her thighs tightly as he inhales her electrifying essence.

Unable to control himself, he sways forward, her body crooning that seductive siren song—it's a never-ending chorus. Holding her in place, he inhumes himself between the apex of her thighs, desperate to taste her. He peeks up at her from this lowered position, making eye contact as he wills his tongue to work against her.

These experimental strokes leave Rey trembling. She becomes impatient by the sedate pace Kylo chooses to pleasure her at, so she resolves to take matters into her own hands; she strengthens her iron-like grip on his disheveled mop of hair, and she wrenches him impossibly closer to her. 

Kylo groans aloud as the girl begins grinding rather roughly against his face. In an attempt to sate her neediness, he fervently laps all that she has to offer him. As the tempo of their licentious endeavor picks up, so does the tension between them; Rey has a familiar urge to provoke him, wondering if she’ll benefit from one of his tantrums in a situation like this. 

“On Crait, you swore to destroy me. I know you did,” instigates Rey breathily, taking a shot at his loyalty to the First Order. “Yet, here you are months later, between my legs, devouring me.” 

Kylo, now drunk on the sensation of an almost-overstimulated Rey turning and shifting beneath him, peers up at her, a merciless expression painting his face. 

“I plan to honor that vow,” he lifts his head to speak, his eyes unnaturally dark, lit only with an amalgam of desire, and frustration, and something else. “The second you come undone under my tongue, I’m going to crawl my way up your body and I’m going to fuck you sore. I plan to ruin you, Rey.” 

“That’s big talk for a man who hesitated to touch my hand a time ago,” mocks Rey, suppressing a smile.

She exploits his ego masterfully; it both frustrates and awes the Jedi Killer.

Out of spite and a desire to impress, Kylo buries his face between her legs once more, pushing her thighs close together so that she truly and utterly surrounds him. He tastes her keenly, wishing never to taste anything but her for as long as he lives. 

Each and every wantonous noise that escapes Rey’s lips sends blood rushing straight to his cock, and he’s maddened by how overwhelming it all is. If he could fuck her for days on end, he surely would. 

“I have so many things I wish to do to you,” he enunciates, his voice muffled by her sex. “I want you in every way, you filthy, little scavenger.”

Rey recognizes the pressure building in the pit of her stomach. Her release isn’t far off, and she is well aware that Kylo’s taken to making a cruel game of it; he wants to see how long she can hold out against him. 

“So close, aren’t you?” he questions rhetorically, almost mockingly. “By the way your face scrunches up at this revelation, I gather that you’re fending it off. Poor thing.”

Rey cannot control her own body; she bucks against his lips, slurring indecently and unintelligibly. She throws her head back, allowing the cool pillow to meet her hair, which is damp with perspiration.

Through the bond, she can feel Kylo readying to taunt her once again, and before he has the chance, she presses her thighs closer together, trapping him between her legs, and rolls the both of them over so that she may straddle his jaw.

Kylo is stupefied by this alteration for a moment. From his place beneath her, he watches her fixedly as she begins to rock back and forth on his face. The slight upturn of her lips leads Kylo to believe that Rey either enjoys riding his face, or she enjoys shutting him up. 

“As I said before,” she teases, panting, “I prefer both.”

Kylo intercepts the grin that threatens to rise to his face, and he continues to devour her in this unfamiliar, fresh position. One taste alone should have satiated his hunger, but Rey’s body works like an aphrodisiac; he can’t get enough, and he’s starting to become desperate for more.

“Rey,” he pleads, his volume diminished by his circumstance. “I need you to cum for me.”

Rey nods frantically, her release within reach. She just needs something, anything, to further her along that little distance. 

An idea in mind, Kylo frees one arm. It snakes its way up to meet her chest, peeling the top from her body, but not without momentary struggle. Rey ducks her head, allowing the shirt to be removed and discarded. He then begins to grapple with her breast band, which gives way after several seconds, leaving her fully and graphically exposed to his eye. 

His massive hand becomes attentive to Rey’s small breasts, squeezing and pinching each nipple roughly. He gropes at her chest, taking pleasure in the urgent whines falling from the lips of the scavenger. Kylo’s utmost attention is paid to Rey by way of pleasure, and she nearly crumbles under his ministrations. 

At last, Rey’s eyes roll back, and she convulses above him, being held up only by the loose hand that steadies her. Kylo watches, for the second time, as the scavenger is brought to completion, and he can’t help but be just as enthralled as he was the first time. He attempts to collect himself as the sparks of pleasure make their way through the bond, seeping from her end to his; he doesn’t want to finish himself before he can properly fuck her. That’d be a tragedy. 

Rey nearly goes limp against his arm, and Kylo sees this as an opportune moment to regain the power he held only moments ago. In one swift movement, he has Rey on her back, and once again, he looms above her, his hands placed at either side of her head.

“Position matters not. You have no power over me,” Rey slurs breathily, a tint of humor in her tone.

Kylo grins down at her, because, yes, he does—what’s worse is that she holds immeasurable power over him as well. She strains his loyalty, and she unconsciously derails his military stratagems; how is he, the Supreme Leader of the First Order, meant to eradicate a system when it’s possible that the system houses this irksome, little sand rat he’s silently sworn to protect? 

“Sand rat… filthy scavenger…” Rey repeats his thoughts aloud, squinting at him while feigning anger. “Have you any other pet names for me?” 

“Rebel scum,” counters Kylo, leering. “And I plan to whisper that one in your ear in just a few moments, as I hold you tight to my body, fucking you mercilessly.” 

“You’ve got a filthy mouth, Ben Solo,” is Rey’s response. “I doubt you’ll follow through with any of these pledges; you’ll be too busy weeping in my arms to take me fittingly.” 

Kylo snarls at this jab, and his response delights the mischievous Rey. He does as he promised before, crawling his way up her fatigued body with a vulturous gaze, as if he’ll strike without notice. Rey, not one to be intimidated, observes him with a coy smile, propped up on her elbows. Once his face is leveled with her own, she pulls him towards her so that she may conceal her face in the crook of his neck, pressing her lips to his skin as she gently nips at him. Kylo tilts his head slightly, giving her further access to his flesh, permitting her to continue this affectionate assault.

Rey pulls away once she’s finished branding his neck with bruises, and she beholds her artwork, her eyes tracing over every black-and-blue mark that mars his complexion; there’s something about marking him as her own that arouses the girl to no end.

“This scar...” Kylo begins, his fingers outlining the nasty cicatrix that disfigures his once-unblemished face. “This vile impairment that you’ve inflicted upon me… it excites you?”

Rey’s thighs squeeze together, and she recollects her earlier thoughts. 

_ No matter how he feels about the wound now, he cannot deny who gave it to him,  _ Rey recalls thinking to herself. _ Every time he sees his reflection from here on out, it’ll be impossible not to think of the girl who’d bested him in the forest those many months ago.  _

Kylo shakes from above, and Rey, at first, mistakes these tremors for an intimation of rage, but, through the bond, she soon feels the desperation flowing from his end to hers; the very idea of being marked by her makes his cock throb. He shudders at the thought, and reaches down, never once breaking eye contact. Taking hold of himself, he begins pumping his shaft while straddling Rey, his eyes housing a glint of intensity. The scavenger watches, utterly engrossed in the sight of her equal toying with himself from directly above.

“Rey, I…” he murmurs, breathing heavily. “I’m not going to be able to last long like this, so let me make one final promise: the next time I see you, I will fuck you as you deserved to be fucked. Whether our next meeting takes place through the bond or in the flesh… in our private quarters, or on a battlefield, surrounded by the carnage of war… I will have you, no matter the circumstances, if you’ll allow me.”

“I want that in writing, Ben,” says Rey facetiously.

Kylo grins for the umpteenth time, which is an odd—though, admittedly pleasing—sight to behold, considering that his countenance is usually stained with a miserable, sunless expression.

“Would you prefer that I fabricate a contract right now?” inquires Kylo with a joking intent.

Rey laughs, and it’s a carefree, fizzy sort of laugh; Kylo considers himself fortunate to be in the position to hear it. 

“I’d rather you take me now, and then we can discuss the terms and conditions after we’re finished,” Rey quips.

“As you wish.”

Kylo grips her thighs and wraps them around his waist, pressed as tightly against her as he could possibly be. Grinding his pelvis against her, Rey grits her teeth and whines impatiently.

“You seem a bit too eager, scavenger—desperate, even,” taunts Kylo. “Have I done this to you?”

Rey breathes heavily at the sensation of their bodies grating against one another, building a heady friction. Kylo continues humping the girl gracelessly, his black mane adhering to his forehead as he lets out low grunts. Inclining his head, he places his cheek against Rey’s, giving him free range to whisper lecherously in her ear.

Brushing his lips back and forth against the helix, he moans softly and says, “My little Jedi, all worked up… don’t worry. I’ve got something that will satisfy you.”

He grips his cock, lining himself up with Rey’s entrance in a clumsy manner. The two direct their line of sight downwards as Kylo pushes forward, gradually sinking inside of her. After a moment or so, he bottoms out, and Rey is filled to her utmost limit. She releases a harsh breath, and Kylo grants her unlimited time to adjust to this unfamiliar sensation, needing some time for himself as well.

“I fit you well, don’t I?” Kylo asks, straightening his arms to further prop himself up. 

“Perfectly,” Rey responds, yielding a series of raring nods. “In every way… not just this.”

After a time, Rey begins to shift beneath his still body, demonstrating her desire for movement. Upon noticing, Kylo jerks back so that he is only halfway-positioned inside of her, and then thrusts forward softly; this pace is kept for a good thirty seconds, and then the pair’s restlessness gets the better of them. What was once controlled and gentle manifests into something sloppy and vicious; each and every thrusts nearly knocks the breath out of the both of them, and it leaves them clinging to each other tightly. 

“Tell me how it feels,” Kylo pleads, seeking praise from his equal. 

Rey clutches Kylo’s hips and uses this grip to her hedonistic advantage, prompting him to plunge deeper inside of her as she pulls him forward.

Her mouth agape, Rey cries out, “Ben!” for the second time since the connection forged, and “Keep going!” for the third. 

Not wishing to disappoint the scavenger, Kylo maintains his brutal pace, lowering his head and whispering something indiscernible into the curve of her neck. His hand slips down between Rey’s thighs, and he touches her, his fingers managing to catalyze her frenzied condition. The two—sweaty, and stimulated, and utterly exhausted—are already close to finishing. 

Rey’s cheeks have become flushed, and tangles of brunette tresses embrace her face. In a state of pure ecstasy, her eyes roll to the back of her head, and she arches her back wanely. 

Kylo keeps his eyes trained on Rey’s face, watching it screw up in pleasure. He finds himself entranced, and he’s unable to bring himself to call her “Rebel scum” as he said he would minutes ago—not when she looks like this. 

As Kylo gazes at her fixedly, Rey is brought to completion for the third time. Thrashing about, her legs shake uncontrollably and she cries out, her voice strained and somewhat pitched. 

This sight, paired with a few more wild, messy thrusts, pushes Kylo over the edge, and he buries his face in the bend of Rey’s neck as his release overwhelms him, emitting raucous grunts and groans. His body goes still as he spills his cum deep inside of the scavenger, and he nearly collapses on top of her once he’s finished. 

Aside from the pair’s heavy breathing, the room is silent.

Brimming with his spend, Rey shifts wearily so that she may look at Kylo. He returns her gaze, looking upon her with the most tired, satisfied expression Rey has ever seen. With her last bit of energy, she leans into him and brushes her lips over his for the first time. Meeting her halfway, Kylo tilts his head, and, hesitantly, his lips press against her’s; their mouths move so smoothly against one another, the synchronicity almost feels unnatural. 

It’s an innocent kiss—one that lacks tongue, or an aggressive cadence. Rey melts into it, breathing a sigh of content, and she raises her fingers to caress the scar that adorns his cheek. Kylo, not quite used to the soft touches Rey provides him with, cautiously accepts this affectionate act. 

After several moments, the two pull away, expecting to see the face of their equal, but they find themselves utterly alone instead. The connection has ended, and their bond has stolen the two away from each other, leaving them both to reflect on the night. 

Rey shifts in bed, grinning as she begins to remember the depraved promise Kylo made to her earlier, shamelessly fantasizing about this inevitable encounter— _ whether through the bond or in the flesh _ … he gave his word to fuck her as she deserves to be fucked, and Rey plans to make sure that he honours his vow. 

  
  



End file.
